


Existence I and II

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-31
Updated: 1999-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: What a book can do, and all that in a coffeshop...





	Existence I and II

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Existence by Blue Mohairbear

TITLE: Existence  
AUTHOR: Blue Mohairbear  
FANDOM: X-Files  
PAIRING: Mulder/Skinner  
RATING: NC-17, for language  
FEEDBACK:   
WEBSITE: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop (thanks, Jadzia!)  
SERIES: *No* <g>  
ARCHIVING: yes   
DISCLAIMER: I offered CC my snowglobe collection for them, but he refused. The poem is by Rumi. He's not mine, either.  
SUMMARY: What a book can do, and all that in a coffeshop...  
WARNING: Extreme shmoop. Like you wouldn't be expecting that by now. ROFL. 

NOTES: Thanks to Merri-Todd Webster, who introduced me to Rumi! Beta by my wonderful friend Sergeeva, who took the time in spite of her own truckloads of work. This story is for you, Sergeeva!  
No, this is not going to have a sequel <g>. I just had to get it out of my system to make place for the rest of Airport III and IV. (Yes, *four!*, she cried, her eyes gleaming madly...)  


* * *

*********************  
EXISTENCE  
by Blue Mohairbear  
November, 1999  
************************ 

"Ah - uh - sorry, Mister!" 

The dog yelped, and the kid looked rather terrified himself. Mulder wasn't sure which of them he had kicked in the collision. 

"'s okay," he said, huddling deeper into his jacket. "It was my mistake, I didn't pay attention. Sorry. You ok?" 

The boy smiled up at him, gratified and visibly baffled by the fact that there were adults in the world who didn't feel too superior to apologize to a kid. 

"Yeah, Mister, I'm ok." He looked down to his little black mongrel dog who stared glumly into the miserable weather. 

"You ok, too, Diefenbaker?" the boy asked earnestly. The dog waved its tail once, then made clear it wanted to get out of the snowy rain and the stinging cold wind. Mulder grinned while he turned the collar of his jacket up. 

"Diefenbaker, huh?" 

"Yeah." The kid beamed proudly. "He's as clever as that Mountie's wolf. You know him? The Mountie?" 

"Sure," Mulder nodded. Damn attractive guy, that Mountie. Beautiful. Sexy. Although not nearly as sexy as -- he shook his head briefly, patted the kid's shoulder and said goodbye. He really shouldn't be fantasizing all the time. The only problem was that the object of his fantasies had its own mind and kept coming back like a boomerang. No, not *its* own mind. *His.* Mulder sighed. 

As he passed by a Starbucks, the door opened and a young couple came out, staggering under a truckload of bags and parcels. Only four weeks until Christmas, and every Saturday the city was now dangerously crowded with people who seemed to believe Washington had been threatened with a siege. They were buying stuff like crazy. 

The voice of Sarah Brightman drifted out of the Starbucks, and suddenly a hot drink seemed very enticing. Mulder entered and looked around. Good. Not as crowded as he had expected. While he waited, his thoughts began wandering again. 

Strong hands. Deep, rich voice. Broad, mountain-like shoulders. Big, muscular chest. Wonderful, hard pecs. Dark fur on that chest, mixed with grey fluff. Lean hips. Nice, big cock, as far as he had seen in the shower of the gym. He thought of how much he'd love to make that cock grow even bigger, hard and throbbing, preferably in his mouth, licking and sucking and- 

"May I help you, sir?" 

Blushing, he ordered Chai Tea Latte and two Vanilla Almond Biscotti, hoping that nobody would notice the bulge in his pants, and tried not to lose the bag with his newly acquired books while he looked around for a free chair. 

There - a fat lady with a poodle was just leaving her place. And it was not only a chair, it was one of those deep, soft armchairs. Mulder cheered inwardly and quickly steered over. He sat cup and plate on the desk that was spotted with coffee stains and cluttered with parts of the Washington Post and some books, and flopped down into the armchair. 

Sighing with relief, he took a big sip of the hot, spicy tea. Looked briefly over to the guy who was occupying the other armchair, leafing through a book. 

Mulder gasped. 

Choked on his tea. 

Wanted to die. 

From over the book, a pair of dark brown eyes watched him calmly. Well, not 

*that* calmly. But slighty amused. Oh shit. *Very* amused. 

"Mulder," the man nodded. One corner of his mouth went slightly upwards. 

Mulder stared. 

"Sir," he croaked, desperately trying to look normal while coughing the tea out of his windpipe. 

His boss. The very object of his rampant erotic fantasies. And he looked so... oh god. Not at all like Walter Skinner. And it wasn't just the brown, well-worn bomber jacket, padded with lambskin, that made Mulder swallow and almost lick his lips. Not the jeans, either. The unfamiliar jeans, covering long, *long* legs, which led to lean hips and from there over a slim waist to a formidable chest and wide shoulders. No - it was the eyes, Mulder realized. God, those beautiful eyes. 

No glasses. Skinner wasn't wearing his glasses. 

'He should wear contacts more often,' Mulder thought. 'He looks great. So young.' 

And he understood why Skinner *did* wear the glasses at the office. They provided a barrier between Skinner The Boss and his - well, the rest of the world. They reflected, hid his eyes, and made him appear unattainable, distant and stern. 

With contacts, his face appeared open, much softer and younger. And handsome, Mulder realized. Not just hot and dead sexy, like he found Skinner looked in the gym. But really, really handsome. 

Skinner was still watching him wordlessly, with an unreadable look, the book now in his lap. Oh yes, he still could do unreadable, even without glasses. Mulder struggled for something to say. 

"You, uhm, have ransacked Hansen's, too, I see," he said, pointing to the blue-white-red bag from the same bookstore he had just left when he had ran into the kid and his dog. 

"Yeah," Skinner said and nodded to the books on the table. "I'm planning my next vacation." 

Mulder tilted his head to read the titles on the backs. 'The Complete Guidebook to Yosemite National Park'. '50 Best Short Hikes in Yosemite and Sequoia Kings Canyon'. 'Guide to Yosemite High Sierra Trails'. 'All Roads Lead to Yosemite'. Mulder suppressed a grin. That was so Skinner. Thorough. 

Then he frowned. The book at the bottom looked familiar. On the wine-red back, he deciphered the words 'The Essential Rumi'. Skinner read *Rumi*? Rumi, the Persian poet, who had written the most wonderful poems - for the man he had loved more than anyone else? 

A sudden jolt of hot jealousy flared through Mulder as he realized that Skinner might well have bought that book for... for a... *lover*. 

"Rumi, sir?" Mulder raised his eyebrows at his boss, noting with satisfaction that his voice kept steady. Skinner shrugged, but held his gaze. Mulder tried to ignore the flickering flame in his stomach as he looked into those dark chocolate pools. 

"A friend recommended him to me," Skinner said. "He loves Rumi and said I had to read him. I won't get to that one until Christmas, though, I'm afraid." 

Mulder nodded. A *friend*, huh. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He took a deep swallow of the Chai and bit into one of his biscotti. 

"So, this friend of yours...," he said lightly, "how did he get to know Rumi? I mean, Rumi is not so widely known." 

This time, both corners of Skinner's mouth curled lightly upwards. Mulder had the very uncomfortable feeling that the man could read his thoughts. He felt himself blushing, and the feeling made him even more uncomfortable and seemed to deepen his blush. Skinner drank from his coffee, his eyes never leaving Mulder's. The younger man felt sweat breaking out on his neck. 

And he suddenly was sure that he had never been so much in love with his boss as at this very moment. 

He watched Skinner's eyes growing wide. Watched the big man's expression becoming serious. Then Skinner took a deep breath and looked away. 

"His wife introduced him to Rumi," he said, his voice a notch deeper than before. Mulder shuddered at the growling tone. 

"My friend was an Ambassador in Iran. He met and married his wife there. They both live here in Washington now." 

Mulder felt himself melting back against the armchair with relief. No lover, then. That was good. And... what he just had seen in his boss' eyes... could he...? He took a deep breath and decided just to go for it. 

"May I, sir?" he asked, pointing to the book. Skinner wordlessly lifted the travel guides and let Mulder pull the Rumi out from under them. Suddenly sweating in his thick leather jacket, Mulder felt Skinner watching him as he leafed through it. 

There. Mulder didn't really have to search for the poem. He knew exactly where to find it. Page 131. Since the first time he had read it, the four short lines had been screaming Skinner's name at him. 

Carefully, he unfolded the inner leaf of the front cover and tucked it in between the pages where the poem was. Closed the book, and laid it back on the stack of travel guides. Busied himself with his tea and his biscotto. 

From the corner of his eye, he watched as his boss slowly reached for the book. Skinner opened it where the coverleaf stuck. Read. Mulder was painfully aware that he was biting his lip, but couldn't stop. His heart thundered in his chest, and suddenly everything was too much, the smell of coffee and wet clothes in the air, the people, the chattering. He was close to panicking. 

'I went too far. God, I fucked up. How could I do that, how could I? This is so stupid.' 

Skinner slowly closed the book. Without looking at Mulder, he packed it back into the bag, then grabbed the travel guides and stuffed them in as well. 

'Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. I better not go to work on Monday. He's gonna kill me. Oh shit oh please-- ' 

"You know, Mulder," Skinner said, his face completely unreadable again, his voice steady. Steady, yes, but... husky. The tone didn't bother to make the detour through Mulder's ears, it went straight to his groin. 

"My friend's wife gave me some interesting recipes. I've just decided to cook some Persian food tonight. Would you like to come and try? Eight, my place?" 

He looked at Mulder, and his eyes were deep and dark and hypnotic, and Mulder had to remind himself that they were in public, in a fucking coffee shop, damn -or he would have fallen into Skinner's lap right now. Provided he'd been able to move. 

He was trembling, and sweating, and his heart was a jackhammer in his chest, and Skinner still looked at him and damn, how could he be so... calm, so collected? But then, he was Skinner, wasn't he? Big, strong, always-in-charge Skinner, and he looked so damn hot and sexy in that bomber jacket, and Mulder was dizzy with love and desire, and Skinner smiled at him. A real smile. 

"Fine, then. Eight," Skinner said, without waiting for an answer. He got up, nodded at Mulder, and then he was gone. 

I AM FILLED WITH YOU.  
SKIN, BLOOD, BONE, BRAIN, AND SOUL.  
THERE'S NO ROOM FOR LACK OF TRUST, OR TRUST.  
NOTHING IN THIS EXISTENCE BUT THAT EXISTENCE.  
\- Rumi 

****THE END*** 

The book is "The Essential Rumi", Castle Books 1997, translations by Coleman Barks, who is said to be *the* expert on Rumi. Thank you again, Merri-Todd! 

***********************************************************  
In the end there can be only one.   
May it be Walter Skinner, the Assistant Director. 

  


 

* * *

 

TITLE: Existence II: The Tambourine  
AUTHOR: Blue Mohairbear  
FANDOM: X-Files  
PAIRING: Skinner/Mulder  
RATING: NC-17  
SERIES: Sequel to "Existence"  
FEEDBACK:   
ARCHIVING: yes  
DISCLAIMER: They were mine for the short moment at Starbucks, but Chris took them back. Rumi belongs to himself... and to Shams.

SUMMARY: The guys meet for dinner. Romance and poetry. Oh, and *DESSERT*...

WARNING: Mega-schmoop!!!

NOTES: Lots of thanks in this one:  
Thanks to my friend Mik and my former collegue Nilufar who provided me with information on Persian food. (Not that Mulder and Skinner are getting to really eat the stuff anytime soon... hehe... but, being a journalist, I'm used to doing serious research. ROFL.)  
Thanks again, of course, to Merri-Todd Webster! *hug*  
Thanks to all of you who bombarded me with feedback and demanded a sequel! I'm always happy to oblige - and now let me finish the other sequels you are waiting for, ok?! LOL. You are wonderful, all of you out there -you greedy monsters! ;))

Beta by my beloved friend Sergeeva. Feel thoroughly hugged and kissed, love!!!! Thank you so much for everything!  


* * *

*********************  
EXISTENCE II: THE TAMBOURINE  
by Blue Mohairbear  
December, 1999  
****************************

All our lives we've looked  
into each other's faces.  
That was the case today too.

How do we keep our love-secret?  
We speak from brow to brow  
and hear with our eyes.  
-Rumi  
  


Mulder didn't remember exactly how he had gotten home. When he came to, he found himself sprawled on his couch, staring in mute amazement at the peacefully bubbling fish tank. Hell, he worked with the X-Files. A lot of incredible things had happened to him in the past. But this... from fantasy to reality in the time of ten minutes... that was a bit much. And Skinner in that damn bomber jacket... he sighed as he felt his jeans grow tight again.

So, what would happen tonight? Dinner, of course. And then? Well, he knew what *he* wanted. Skinner. Lots of Skinner for dessert. Oh yes, a hot Skinner, preferably naked, horny, and at his mercy. When he closed his eyes, he could just see the object of his fantasies in that fucking sexy bomber jacket, open, the big furry chest naked under it, in jeans and... oh yes, barefooted. Skinner had nice feet. Mulder had seen them in the gym. Next to other really nice things he had seen.

He felt his heartbeat speeding up and suppressed the urge to reach down and get his hand into his pants. No use in wasting the ammo, he would need all of that tonight. He *hoped*.

The muted ring of his cell threw him into a frenzy. He shot up from the couch and desperately searched his abandoned jacked for the damn phone. Could that be Skinner? And if it was him, what did he want? Cancel? 'Sorry, Mulder, but at second thoughts, this might not be a good idea'? He grabbed the cell after the fifth ring.

"Yeah?" He cursed himself for sounding so breathless, so... needy.

"Mulder, it's me. Where have you been all day?"

All tension left him in a rush and let his body crumple down on the couch, limp as a dishrag, his heart still galloping with adrenaline.

"Hey, Scully. I was in town. Shopping. Books, a shirt, you know."

"Ah. I've been wondering... it's almost four, normally you would have called me at least three times by now."

"I called you this morning, Scully. Before I left."

"That doesn't count, Mulder. That was at seven and I was about to kill you. So, what is it? Tell me what happened."

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Mulder... come *on*. I know you. I know your voice. Something happened."

His heartbeat, which had just fallen into a leisurely canter, sped up to gallop again.

"Scully, I don't know what you---"

Even through the phone, he could *see* her rolling her eyes.

"Mul-der. Tell. Me. What. Happened. *Now*."

Ouch. That was going to be tough. Obfuscate, Mulder, obfuscate. You know how to do that. You do it in all your reports to Skinner - oh shit. Wrong direction. Dead wrong.

"Mull-derrrr....."

"Ah, Scully... I'm just a bit... beat, you know? Are you aware of what's going on at the malls these days? It looks like war. People are totally crazy. Christmas crazy. Oh - hey, Scully, I've been thinking about this Santa thing and the alien-"

"Okay, Mulder, if you don't want to talk about it, I've got things to do."

Oops. Not good. Maybe she was only PMSing, but better not risk a shitty day at work on Monday. Oh god - Monday, that would be a regular working day. With Skinner. After... well, after *tonight*... shit, wrong direction again. Do *not* think about Skinner now.

"I, uhm, I met Skinner. At Starbucks."

He held his breath for a moment, but all she said was, "So?"

"So nothing, Scully. We had a coffee together, that is, he had coffee, I had Chai Latte, you know, like always, and biscotti, and... and we... talked."

"You *talked*. Uh-huh." He could see her again, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows at him. Of course, right now, she had to hold the phone, so she couldn't really fold her arms, but-

"*Mulder*. What did he do to make your voice sound like that? Did he threaten to burn all your 302's for the next twenty years? He told you he opened his fridge and found an alien? What? Come *on*, Mulder, give."

"Ha ha, Scully. Funny." What could he say? 'He invited me for dinner, Scully'? Yeah, sure. Great. Just what she needed to know.

"He invited me for dinner, Scully."

Oh, shit.

Silence.

Then, deeply satisfied, "Well, finally."

Mulder blinked.

"What do you mean, well finally, Scully? Well finally I told you, or well finally Skinner invited me?"

"Both, Mulder." Scully sounded amused. "*And* finally Skinner had the wits to act. I thought he'd never get it. Or do something about it. He's an amazing man, but I *was* beginning to think he was awfully dense."

"Get what? Do what? About what?" Mulder winced at the panic in his own voice.

"Mulder", Scully said, very patiently. She sounded like a Mom explaining something to a small child.

"You've been in love with the man for... well, long enough. It's been a year, at least. I may be catholic, Mulder, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Or old-fashioned."

"Uhm," was all Mulder was able to get out. He felt himself blushing.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked meekly.

"To me, yes. To others, I don't think so. You don't have that many close friends, Mulder."

"Yeah. Yeah, right. Uh, Scully, what should I do now? I mean, should I-"

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Feel. Don't think. Use your instincts." The underlying laughter didn't make it better.

"Oh, come on, Scully, don't go Qui-Gon on me here."

"It was you who dragged me to that movie, Mulder. But, seriously - just let it happen. Believe me. It will be ok."

***********

The mystery does not get clearer by repeating the question,  
nor is it bought with going to amazing places.

Until you've kept your eyes  
and your wanting still for fifty years,  
you don't begin to cross over from confusion.  
\- Rumi  
  


It was ok - well, something almost resembling ok, if one didn't count several panic attacks, two full hours of changing clothes over and over again, and buckling knees. It was ok until he actually stood outside of Skinner's apartment, ready to ring the bell, a bottle of champagne in one hot, sweaty paw. Champagne, because he didn't have a clue what went with Persian food.

The door opened before he even had decided to lift his finger to the bell. What was the man, a damn Sentinel?

The damn Sentinel smiled at him, stood back and waved him in. He wore jeans, and a simple grey t-shirt. And still no glasses. Mulder swallowed nervously, while Skinner closed the door behind him.

"Just put your jacket over there. Sorry, I've got to watch this pot." Skinner went back into the kitchen. Mulder followed slowly. The food smelled delicious.

"Ah, champagne", Skinner said with relish. "That's great, Mulder, thanks. Would you put it into the fridge?"

He acted as if having Mulder in his kitchen was completely normal. Mulder was grateful for that, he slowly felt himself loosening up. Leaning against the counter, he sniffed appreciately.

"Smells great," he said. "What is it?"

"Koreshe Kadoo Bademjan. With Pollo."

Mulder grinned. "Sounds dangerous."

Skinner smiled, dipped a spoon into the happily burbling brew, blew on it, and held it to Mulder's mouth.

"Here, taste it."

Mulder stared at the steaming spoon in front of his mouth, then looked at Skinner. Skinner stared back, his eyes a deep dark brown, and nodded. Mulder closed his eyes briefly. Opened his mouth and let Skinner feed him the brew. It was hot, and thick, and spicy, and very good. And Mulder thought that this was probably the most erotic thing anybody had ever done to him. When Skinner took the spoon back, he slowly let it glide over Mulder's lower lip.

"Good?" His voice was rough. And Mulder... Mulder was hard. Achingly hard.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Good."

Skinner nodded.

"So..., " Mulder fought for control, "what does 'Koreshe Kadoo Bademjan' mean?"

Skinner stared at him in surprise, then grinned.

"That memory of yours is a dangerous thing, Mulder. The name means a stew with lamb and lots of nice exotic spices. It has been simmering for two hours now, and I think it's ready. I'll just have to add the eggplants and the zucchini."

"And... Pollo? In Spanish and Italian, that's chicken."

Skinner grinned. "Not in Persian. Pollo is rice."

Mulder nodded. "Is there a dessert?" And, at the same second, remembered the kind of dessert he had been thinking about earlier. Blushed.

Skinner looked at him, and suddenly Mulder had the feeling that those eyes weren't brown anymore, they were black, and they were... dangerous. Skinner grinned, a feral grin, and he licked his lips. Mulder shuddered. Why was breathing so hard, suddenly? He knew that it was exactly the kind of dessert Skinner was thinking about now, and that made him flush with embarrassment and fiery lust at the same time. Oh god, those eyes... -

"Chole Sard."

Mulder blinked. "Huh?"

Skinner smiled, a kind smile this time. A tender smile. Gone was the hungry tiger that had pierced him with his eyes a few seconds ago.

"Chole Sard. Our dessert. Chole means loose, and Sard means yellow. It's a kind of rice pudding, but much more delicious than the western kind you know."

"Ah." Mulder nodded, as if some darn kind of rice pudding was all that interested him at the moment, while suppressing a moan at the dark rich sound of Skinner's voice.

//*No*, Mulder, you *can't* just pounce him now//

"And... the drink? I mean, do we keep it 'muslim', without alcohol?" He desperately tried to get his brains clear, clear of the fog that seemed to be lingering everywhere up there in his head since that look Skinner had given him.

God, he really had it bad.

"No..." Skinner said absently, stirring the brew again and looking for the halves of zucchini and eggplants that were gently simmering in another large pot. The smell from a third one told Mulder that the rice was boiling in there.

He watched with fascination as the AD moved around the stove with catlike grace, muscles moving slightly under the grey cotton that covered the big body. He started when his boss continued his sentence.

"No," Skinner still spoke to the pots, "I have some Dugh, that's a carbonated yoghurt drink which usually goes with Persian food. It's very good, and refreshing. But we can have red wine, if you like. Would you serve yourself? I've got to watch here."

"Uh - sure," Mulder stammered, reaching for the already open bottle that stood on the counter beside the stove, barely able to pry his greedy eyes off the magnificent body before him, when Skinner turned around.

They collided slightly - and the touch sent a brushfire through Mulder, and let his knees buckle. He looked at Skinner... watched those dark eyes become black again... he sighed, gave up all pretense... his eyes drifted slowly shut... and he leaned forward, into the heat that enfolded him.

************

I am a tambourine. Don't put me aside  
till the fast dancing starts.  
Play me some all along.  
Help me with these little sounds.  
\- Rumi  
  


"Fox..." The whisper was rough and hot and breathless in his ear. He wasn't able to answer, already aroused beyond any clear thinking.

"You know, I *was* planning to have dinner with you..." And warm lips wandered slowly over his cheek, while big hands began lightly stroking up and down his arms. Mulder gasped at the waves of shudders that rolled through him.

"So?" he managed. "Let's eat later, then..." And he put his hand behind that strong neck and turned his mouth to Skinner's. When their lips touched, Skinner's grip on his biceps tightened. Mulder sighed - oh, that felt so good, this first kiss, so unbelievably sweet and good - and he felt the hot tip of Skinner's tongue tickling his lips and he opened his mouth... and Skinner tasted so nice, of wine and foreign spices, so warm and good and sexy...

... and Mulder asked himself for a short, anxious moment what *he* might taste like for Skinner, and he remembered having brushed his teeth before he had come here, he had brushed them at least three times --- and then Skinner moaned into his mouth, and strong arms fastened around his shoulders and his waist, and all thoughts deserted him in a rush.

The feeling of their bodies touching and pressing together was incredible. Finally feeling that big, hard-muscled body flush against his own almost pushed Mulder over the edge. Both men were breathing hard already. Mulder drew back and looked into a handsome face that was flushed with desire. A face he had known for years and which was so new to him now. Skinner stared back, with a hot, wanting look. Then he kissed Mulder's ear, and let his lips slowly trail down.

"God, Fox," he murmured. "You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this. You have no idea." And he bit gently down into Mulder's shoulder. A sharp jolt of lust shot through Mulder, and he thrust his hips forward. Only to meet hard resistance. Skinner hissed.

"Wait," he mumbled. He turned around to the stove, and turned all burners off. Mulder stood behind him, slipped his arms around the slim waist and let his hands wander over the taut stomach and the big chest, enjoying the feeling of the defined pecs under his palms. Skinner sighed and leaned back into him.

Mulder nuzzled the soft skin on the inviting neck before him, then returned the favor and buried his teeth into the strong shoulder. Skinner groaned and arched up. He spun around, grabbed into Mulder's hair, and kissed him, hard and demanding now. Mulder moaned helplessly under the fiery assault, his brain completely mush.

The kitchen counter pressed painfully into his back. He wanted... *needed* to lie down, he wanted this big body over him, under him, whatever, and he was dizzy and close to exploding and overwhelmed with feelings, touches, smells and tastes.

As if he had sensed it, Skinner slowly steered him backwards, and in the direction of the couch, still kissing him, while his hands were busy pulling the t-shirt under Mulder's pullover free. Reaching the couch, he let himself fall backwards and pulled Mulder over him.

Oh yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes, someone in Mulder's head chanted, over and over. Yes, yes, yes. This was it. What he had been wanting all the time.

Mulder opened his eyes and looked down. There,lying under him, hot and panting, was the man of his dreams, the beautiful brown eyes glazed over with love and lust.

"I can't believe this," Mulder whispered. Kissed Skinner, tenderly biting the soft lips under his, and said fervently: "Make me, Walter. Make me believe."

And Skinner, from under him, pounced.

************

If anyone asks you  
how the perfect satisfaction  
of all our sexual wanting  
will look, lift your face  
and say,  
LIKE THIS.  
...  
When someone asks what it means  
to "die for love", point  
HERE.  
...  
When lovers moan,  
they're telling our story.  
LIKE THIS.  
\- Rumi  
  


From that moment on, time seemed to pass in flashes for Mulder, but they were slow-motion flashes. Weird. He didn't really remember how his shoes and socks had come off, or his pullover and shirt. He felt the leather of the couch against his bare back and realized that Skinner was on top of him, kssing and stroking him everywhere at once.

Another flash, and he was naked, and Skinner was naked, too, deliciously naked, and, oh sweet Jesus, the feeling of a hard, hot Skinner over him, big paws buried in his hair, that was really, really Skinner, his lover now, his *lover*, God yes, kissing him like his life depended on it, rocking his steely-velvety hardness gently against Mulder's own - and Mulder suddenly understood the term "dying of joy". He was sure he was going to do just that in a few moments.

He desperately tried to hold on, which was hard with all that delicious friction of hot skin and hardness against his. Tried to avert his concentration from the rapidly building tension in his groin, concentrating on Skinner's kisses, Skinner's hands, the movement of his lover's hard muscles under the warm, silky skin. He managed to hold on perfectly well for a few minutes more, dragging out the sweet torture - until Skinner began to make the noises.

They were little short moans, or a mix of moans and whimpers; Mulder was sure that Skinner wasn't even aware of making them, but they drove Mulder crazy. He gave up, began to meet Skinner's movements, became faster in unison with him, letting himself be guided by the deep breathless sounds Skinner made into his ear, so cute and hot --- and as the big muscular body in his arms stiffened, and Skinner pressed his face into Mulder's neck and moaned his name, and the sound vibrated through Mulder's whole body --- then Mulder just let go and let himself tumble into his own painfully sweet release with a shout of joy.

************

What is the body? That shadow of a shadow  
of your love, that somehow contains  
the entire universe.  
\- Rumi  
  


He opened his eyes to meet the happy, chocolate brown gaze of the warm, sleepy, sated beast in his arms.

"So," Skinner sighed contentedly, and nuzzled his cheek, "are you hungry now?"

"Oh *yes*," Mulder said dreamily, grinning like an idiot, and he kissed Skinner...

"...very hungry," he said, and he licked the spot behind Skinner's left ear, a spot he had just found out about, and the licking and sucking of which caused really interesting reactions in his lover...,

"...absolutely hungry," he purred, as his lips wandered down the strong neck and left another mark on the hard-muscled shoulder...,

"...you were my starter, and you're going to be my main course and my dessert, too," he softly sang into Skinner's ear. "For the rest of my life."

************

The minute I heard my first love story  
I started looking for you, not knowing  
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.  
They're in each other all along.  
\- Rumi

***THE END***

The poems are from "The Essential Rumi", Castle Books 1997, translations by  
Coleman Barks.

  


End file.
